Allen Tate Quotes

For now the moon with friendless light carouses On hill and housetop, street and marketplace, Men will plunge, mile after mile of men, To crush this lucent madness of the face....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Ditty."
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What shall we say who have knowledge Carried to the heart? Shall we take the act To the grave? Shall we, more hopeful, set up the grave In the house? The ravenous grave?
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet. Ode to the Confederate Dead (l. 82-85). . . Collected Poems, 1919-1976 [Allen Tate]. (1989) Louisiana State University Press.
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The river, right, tumbled into a cove; But the map dashed the road along the stream And we dotted man's fishiest enthymeme With jellied feet upon understanding love Of what eyes see not, that nourishes the will: We were fishers, weren't we?
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Trout Map."
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The moon will run all consciences to cover....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Ditty."
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The gentle serpent, green in the mulberry bush, Riots with his tongue through the hush— Sentinel of the grave who counts us all!
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet. Ode to the Confederate Dead (l. 87-89). . . Collected Poems, 1919-1976 [Allen Tate]. (1989) Louisiana State University Press.
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The Management Area of Cherokee National Forest, interested in fish, Has mapped Tellico and Bald Rivers And North River, with the tributaries Brookshire Branch and Sugar Cove Creed: A fishy map for facile fishery....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Trout Map."
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Fretted shadow on stumps A vanishing husk Of light . . . grey lumps Of stone verge the hills with fears. It is quickly dusk.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Dusk."
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What shall we say of the bones, unclean, Whose verdurous anonymity will grow? The ragged arms, the ragged heads and eyes Lost in these acres of the insane green?
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet. Ode to the Confederate Dead (l. 63-66). . . Collected Poems, 1919-1976 [Allen Tate]. (1989) Louisiana State University Press.
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There by some wrinkled stones round a leafless tree With beards askew, their eyes dull and wild Twelve ragged men, the council of charity Wandering the face of the earth a fatherless child....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Twelve."
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Blind in a gentle tempest of gold hair.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Eager Youths to a Dead Girl."
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